


Everybody’s Free to Wear Sunscreen

by Snowjob



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Day At The Beach, Derek helps make it better, Light Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Stiles is sunburned, damn sunburns, written because I wish I had a werewolf to make it all better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowjob/pseuds/Snowjob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles gets his Polish ass severely sunburned, and Derek helps him through it.</p><p>Also this song is stuck in my head:</p><p>Let’s go to the beach, each<br/>Let’s go get a wave<br/>They say, what they gonna say?<br/>Have a drink, clink, found the Bud Light<br/>Bad bitches like me, is hard to come by</p><p>Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody’s Free to Wear Sunscreen

**Author's Note:**

> Literally written because while on vacation I let myself get heinously sunburnt, resulting in being housebound the next day, as well as in terrible, terrible pain. This helped me through it.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow.”

“Would you just find some shade and sit down?” Stiles shoots a dark look toward Derek as he waddles to the chair under the makeshift tent, spouting _ows_ with every step, and ending with a prolonged groan of pain as he falls heavily into the seat, grooves digging into his tender, over-cooked flesh.

“Oh god it fucking _hurts_ ; it’s like the sun is trying to burst out through my skin,” Stiles whimpers as he spreads out as much as he can in the plastic beach chair, which is to say not much. Those stackable white eyesores were not made with comfort in mind. 

“Well why didn’t you-” 

“Oh I _did_. While you swimsuit models were getting the beer I was lathering up, head to toe.”

“That was _six hours ago_. Didn’t you reapply?” Stiles opens and shuts his mouth three times before leveling Derek with a glare.

“Maybe if I wasn’t the _only_ one who had to worry about the sun’s harmful rays-”

“Don’t give me that, you _know_ Scott would give you the bite in a heartbeat if you ever asked for it. Besides, Danny-”

“Not fair, Danny is a Hawaiian Sun God, you can’t put my white Polish ass in the same bracket.” A yelp from the shoreline pulls both their attentions down to the beach, where Isaac has Scott in a headlock, trying in vain to force the alpha under the water, as Boyd and Erica play chicken with Ethan and Danny.

“What’re you doing up here, anyway?” Stiles asks, glancing back over at Derek, who settles back into his chair once he realizes the screaming was all in fun. The older man shrugs, and Stiles definitely does _not_ fixate on the ripple of his stupidly tan muscles from the slight movement. 

They sit in silence together for a few minutes, Stiles grimacing audibly every time he shifts, until Derek huffs a little and leans down to snag his phone from under his chair. 

“Who’re you calling?” Derek just shoots him a glare, phone up to his ear.

“Hey Lydia, you guys headed back yet? … Great, can you swing by a nursery and pick up an aloe plant,” his eyes skate over Stiles’ reddened form, “A big one? Maybe two? … Yep, got it in one. See you soon.” Stiles’ face is stuck somewhere between annoyance and fondness as the other man settles back into his chair, resting his phone on his stomach.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he murmurs, which just gets him another shrug.

“Want a beer?” Derek hops up, sliding the phone into the pocket of his swim trunks. Stiles hopes he remembers it’s there before he goes for another round of swimming. Or a first round of swimming.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks.” Derek nods and trots down to the surf where they’d dug a little hole in the sand to keep the cooler in. Scott was convinced it would keep everything colder for longer. Stiles tries and fails to not watch Derek’s ass as he runs, or bends over, or takes a moment to shout something at Erica as she grapples with Danny. There’s an unmistakable smile on his face as he makes his way back up the slight hill, a can in each hand. He tosses one to Stiles, who hisses as cold droplets of condensation fall onto his sunburn.

“Was that you, or the sizzle of your skin?” Derek asks as he pops the tab open.

“Har har,” Stiles mocks as he tries to hide his grimace as more water falls onto him as he opens his own can. When he looks back up at Derek he’s no longer grinning, eyebrows drawn in worry.

“It really hurts that much?”

“Yessss,” Stiles hisses between his teeth, unsure where to set his beer. He didn’t think this whole thing through. Derek lays a tentative hand on Stiles’ arm, which gets pulled away with a grunt of pain. “Dude, I told you, sun, radiating out of my skin.”

“Well where _doesn’t_ it hurt?” They both scan over his reddened frame, eyes landing on his trunks before darting back up to meet each other. For once Stiles is grateful for the sunburn, his blush hidden by the heated skin.

“I’m not gonna ask you to-”

“I’m fine with it,” Derek reaches for the top of the trunks, stopping about halfway, “unless, you’re not fine with it?” In answer Stiles hooks a finger on the waistband, tugging down to show the pale skin underneath. He bites back a whimper as Derek leans in, fingers tucking underneath the still damp fabric, wrapping around his hip, brushing against his ass. 

“Okay?” he asks, and Stiles can’t help but notice it sounds breathy. He nods, then lets out the most embarrassing moan as dark tendrils snake up Derek’s wrist, body loosening and slumping, head falling back as the pain leaves.

“Ohmy _god_ , Derek, don’t stop, that feels _amazing_.” There’s another yelp and sudden splash, and Stiles pries his eyes open (when had he even shut them? What kind of drug _was_ Derek?) to see Erica had been unseated from Boyd’s shoulders, and is now blinking water out of her eyes to stare up at them. He can only imagine what it looks like from her perspective; Stiles leaning back all pliant and sated, Derek kneeling in front of him, hand wrapped around his hip, trunks pulled down enough to expose the glaringly pale skin beneath.

“Not what you think,” he groans out, causing Derek to shoot worried brows at him again. He shakes his head lazily, “Erica thinks, your-, but you’d never, with me-”

“I wouldn’t?” 

_Wait. What?!_

“Wait. What?!” Stiles practically shouts as he bolts upright, grimacing at the minor loss of contact before Derek starts his pain-drain again. 

“Why do you think I came up here?” Derek asks in a soft voice, looking intently at the ground.

“I… I just figured you were annoyed by us... me,” Stiles sighs as he clenches his fingers in order to keep them from running through Derek’s hair or cupping his face. He’d spent a good portioning of the morning trying to goad Derek into a water fight, a swim race, an underwater wrestling match, anything to get him in close proximity and maybe even put a smile on the werewolf’s face. But he’d declined every time, and after Stiles cannonballed off the end of the dock he’d retreated up to the shady area of the tent. 

“Believe it or not, these shorts are not the greatest at hiding a boner.” Stiles gulps audibly as Derek raises his head, locking eyes, “I didn’t want to scare you off with my… enthusiasm.” 

“I’m not easily scared off,” he whispers, heart beating furiously at the notion that _this is actually happening_ , “and _really_ dig enthusiasm.” Derek scoots closer between splayed legs, right hand gripping his hip a little harder as he lightly traces Stiles’ reddened cheekbone with the pad of his thumb.

“You’re sure?” And if he pauses one more time Stiles is gonna lose it. The _yes_ barely hisses between his teeth before his mouth is covered, Derek leaning into him, head tilted just barely to the right. It starts as just a light pressing of lips, with Stiles going back for seconds, and thirds, before nipping at Derek’s bottom lip, ready to push for more. He’s practically giddy at the feeling of Derek’s tongue on his, the soft caress just barely sweeping past his lips. Fingers thread through soft, dark tresses as Stiles does his best to hold the man in place, give as good as he can, show his own enthusiasm with the turn of events. 

“Careful,” Derek pants into his mouth, “you’re still hurt. And I can’t hold onto you forever.”

“Yes you can,” Stiles retorts, never moving his lips from Derek’s as he wraps his arms around his neck, pulling their bare chests flush together. He’s about half a second away from slipping his legs around the werewolf’s waist when he hears him groan out, “So hot, Stiles, you’re _so hot_.”

“Mmmm, so are you…”

“No, I mean literally,” at this Derek pulls his face back, keeping both hands securely on his hips. “Anything we do now is going to hurt about ten times worse later.” He pauses and takes a breath, eyebrows drawing down, “Plus, we have an audience.”

“Oh, you actually _remembered_ us?” Isaac calls out from the shore, where he and the others had stopped their roughhousing to watch the proceedings at the tent. 

“Fine… but, to be continued?” Derek smirks and places a light kiss on the end of his nose.

“Definitely.”

______________

About an hour later they wake up from their shaded nap, Derek’s hand still tucked down Stiles’ trunks, with three potted aloe plants at their heads and a card that reads _Fucking finally_ in Lydia’s fancy script.


End file.
